Family Bond
by Simply A Writer
Summary: When Matthew is attacked by Gilbert in his own home and America gets hurt during the conflict, how will the other nations deal with this event? Will the Prussian be called for his misdeed, or will he find some way to ensure that the North American Brothers stay quiet? Rated T due to likelihood of increasing violence as the story progresses.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hello there fellow Hetalia fans! Welcome to my first published attempt at a Hetalia themed fanfiction. I apologise now for any spelling mistakes I may have missed and I will stress this fact:**

**I _do not _hate Prussia, I just felt like using him like this for this story, so sorry for making him a complete ass, but it seemed to work!**

**Anywho, enjoy!**

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What snacks should I make for tonight, Matthew wondered as he pottered around his kitchen; it was his and Alfred's monthly movie night, and there was nothing the Canadian nation loved more than to be able to spend a night with his brother without having to worry about war or politics. It was a welcome chance for both of them to be able to ignore their responsibilities as nations; even if only for a short while. A knock at the door interrupted his musings.

"Odd," Matthew muttered to himself, walking towards his front door – he wasn't expecting Alfred for another hour or so yet… not that it bothered him if he got here early.

"Hey Al, you're…" Matthew felt his blood run cold; it wasn't the fun-loving over-eager American he'd been expecting, but a tall man with ashen hair and crimson eyes that carried the lusting of a thousand savages: Gilbert. "No," was all Matthew managed to whisper, fear slowly filling his body as he tried to slam the door in the Prussian's face.

"Now, now little Canada," the albino smirked, jamming a foot in the door before it could be fully closed. "Is that any way to treat someone as awesome as I am?"

"I-I don't know why you're here," Matthew said, hating the way his voice trembled as he did so. "But… I–I want you to leave, now." The Prussian tilted his head in mock confusion before thrusting the door open onto the smaller nation standing inside.

"I don't intend to be going anywhere just yet," he almost seemed to growl as he strode inside, glaring down at the shorter teen before launching a punch into his gut. Matthew dropped to the floor, winded, tears coming to his eyes as he tried to catch his breath. "Not without having a little fun first, that is."

No. No, no, no, no, no! Matthew had a strange feeling that he knew what the Prussian meant by fun, and wanted no part in it. With that driving force in mind, a wave of adrenalin flushed through his body as he scrambled towards the stairs. If he could only make it to his room, to his mobile which he was no sorely wishing he'd opted to keep with him, or, at least, to a room with a door that locked.

"Oh," Gilbert teased, an amused tone lacing his voice as Matthew reached the top of the stairs and started off towards his room. "Trying to run away are you? I do love a good chase." Hearing this, followed by pursuing footsteps stalking him towards what he hoped would be his savior only doubled Matthew's desperation as he stumbled into his bedroom, lunging for the mobile on his nightstand. The burst of relief he felt at having the device in-hand was short-lived as his pursuer came barreling into him, sending him sprawling across the floor as a searing wave of pain wracked his entirety of his left side, followed shortly by a warm damp sensation.

"Come on _Mattie, y_ou could at least _try_ to fight back," Gilbert sneered down at him, launching a kick into his quarry's chest, an evil smirk spreading across his lips as Matthew coughed and spluttered in response. "It makes your pain twice as enjoyable." He laughed, throwing a few more kicks into him for good measure. Matthew let his left arm sink down to cradle his waist - noting that thankfully, the phone was still in his hand – letting his right groping about under the bed beside him, praying that he'd find something that he could use as a weapon against his assailant, managing to cut the back of his hand on something on the process. There is was!

"Sick bastard," Matthew yelled whilst swinging the hockey stick Alfred had gotten him for his last birthday towards the Prussian's knee. The older nation growled in pain and frustration as Matthew stuck his thigh, having missed his knee – and his chance to cripple his attacker – by mere inches. Luckily, it still gave the young Canadian enough time to scramble to his feet and make a dash for the door, running down the hall into his study, he slammed the door behind him before sliding the lock into place. Still not even daring to breathe, he dialed his brother's number, the dial tone going on for what felt like a small eternity.

"Open up," Gilbert slammed against the door, the murderously sweet tone he spoke with making Matthew feel ill. "Open the door Mattie, you can't play hit and run with me."

"Mattie," Alfred's voice echoed through Matthew's phone and he could've cried with joy at the sound of it. "Mattie, what's going on? Are you alright?"

"A-Alfred, I -," was all he managed to stammer out before yet another barrage of ill concealed anger rattled the door causing him to yelp in fear.

"Hang on Mattie, I'm coming," he could hear the underlying urgency in his brother's voice as a motorcycle revved up somewhere in the background. "Where are you?"

"At home," he yelled frantically as Gilbert finally managed to break through the door. "In the stud-" a foot slammed down on the phone – and his hand – effectively cutting off his call.

"What do you think you're doing?" all of the albino's early sugar was gone, replaced by anger and bloodlust. "Call all the help you want, I'll kill you before they even get here!" Two large hands found their way around his throat, dragging him up and shoving him into the wall against which he'd previously been taking cover, his feet dangling a few inches off the floor. "You will suffer."

"Le-let g-go," Matthew gasped, trying desperately to pry the hands from his throat, already struggling to breathe, feet scrambling against the wall, attempting to find enough purchace on the flat surface to alleviate the pressure on his windpipe. The only response his plea got, however, was a crazed laugh and a tighter grip. No matter how much he struggled, the only thing Matthew succeeded in doing was cause his ribs to throb painfully.

How long had it been; ten, twenty minutes, maybe? Would Alfred make it in time, or would he turn up just to find his corpse?

So, this was it then? Matthew could feel himself going light-headed, his vision was starting to blur and it had become all but impossible to breathe. He knew it was only the fact that he'd managed to snatch the occasional gulp of air earlier on in the struggle that had allowed him to stay conscious for this long, but it was running out now. The room was swimming in and out of focus, growing dimmer as the seconds passed; even Gilbert's crazed laughter had stopped – all of his pain was slowly ebbing away. Was this what death felt like? It was peaceful and, considering preceding events, a welcome experience. Simply drifting, off into the darkness…

"Mattie," a panicked voice drifted up the stairs to the brawling duo. Matthew forced his eyes open, greeted by red eye that seemed torn between their 'play thing' and whoever had joined their midst. Heavy footsteps could be heard charging up the stairs towards them. Gilbert snarled tightening his grip, unwilling to release the Canadian nation before his deed was done. Matthew gave up in his desperate bid for escape, no longer having the strength to lift his arms. A feral scream accompanied by a sudden jolt shook the pair of them, sending Gilbert flying away from him; Matthew just dropped where he was, hitting the floor with a resounding thud, the impact causing him to gasp in shock. The intake of air felt wrong in his mouth, a heavy blackness was still hanging over Matthew's mind, threatening to pull him under, he could feel himself… slipping, drifting almost – it was so peaceful…

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**A/N: So guys, what'd you think? Any good point, bad points? Drop a review or message and let me know. **

**Cuz the world runs of love and I love a little sugar! =D **

**Simply A Writer. **


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Wow guys, I didn't think you'd take to it that well - don't get me wrong, I'm glad you did, but just... wow! Anyway, as you can probably tell, since you lot seem to want more, I'll be updating every Wednesday, bar near fatality or my laptop throwing a wobbly. :D  
Enjoy!**

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That was weird; Matthew knew Alfred was on his way over, so why was he calling him now?

Oh well, Alfred thought, answering it anyway. Mattie probably just wanted him to pick some things up at the store or something. What he heard when he answered was something he never would've expected...

Alfred's ears were greeted by what sounded like someone pounding on a wooden door; there was shouting in the background – indistinct, but clearly enraged – accompanied by… whimpering?

"Mattie," Alfred called down the phone, trying to keep the mounting apprehension out of his voice as his brows furrowed in confusion. "Mattie, what's going on? Are you alright?"

"A-Alfred I-," Matthew had yelped; Mattie never yelped. Alfred though he'd caught the sound of splintering wood just a second ago. Matthew needed help, and he needed it now.

"Hang on Matt, I'm coming," Alfred hadn't realized that he'd started moving until he was in his garage, kicking his bike into life. "Where are you?"

"At home," was the rushed response that came down the line, "In the stud-," that was it. With a crack the line had gone dead; Alfred had thankfully heard all he'd needed to.

As he roared out of his garage, Alfred thumbed through his phone, dialing a number as he sped down the road.

"Alfred," Arthur called down the line, trying to be heard over the bike. "Are you on your motorcycle?"

"Iggy," Alfred yelled before he could help himself – the fact that he'd picked up meant he was still in America, which was a huge relief for its representative. "No, well, yes, I am, but you can nag about it later. How close are you to Mattie's house?"

"A-about an hour, why," Arthur stammered, thrown of by the urgency in the younger nation's voice. "Alfred, what happened?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "Mattie called me a few minutes ago, sounding scared out of his mind; all I could hear was Matt, some angry shouting that I couldn't understand and the sound of breaking wood."

"Don't worry lad, I'm on my way," Alfred could hear Arthur kicking his own vehicle into life on the other end of the phone. "I'm taking the bike, so I should be able to make it to you in forty-five minutes; how far are you?"

"Almost there," he hesitated before quietly adding. "Iggy… I-I'm scared what if I can't make it in time…" he trailed off; the possible outcomes didn't bare thinking about.

"You'll both be fine," Alfred could imagine the warm smile Arthur would usually wear when he'd had this sort of conversation with Alfred when he and Matthew were younger; the way it would seem to soothe out any doubts or worries that had struck the young duo. "Like you keep saying, Alfred; you're the hero, right?"

"Yeah," Alfred muttered doubtfully to himself after hanging up the phone. "But sometimes the hero can't save the day…" He soon put a stop to that line of though as he arrived at Matthew's house in the country side, skidding to a stop on the gravel driveway before jumping from his bike and running through the open front door. No, no, this was bad…

"Mattie," Alfred yelled, silently praying to himself that his younger brother was able to hear him. Trying not to panic, he dashed up the stairs towards the study – with any luck, Mattie would still be there, would still be safe…

"Mattie," Alfred tried again as he sprinted up the stairs, jogging down the hall; it was just around the corner…

The sight that met him as he rounded the corner in the hall just before the study made a lump form in Alfred's throat. The door to the study – or what was left of it – lay scattered across the floor, a few chunks still swinging on the hinges. He pelted through the debris, catching his thigh on one of the broken splints as he did so.

As he burst into the room, he was greeted with sickening sight – Gilbert stood, hands around his brother's throat holding him off the floor. Matthew's face had turned a deathly pale; his eyes had glazed over as he stared into nothing, mouth hanging open in a silent scream. Alfred's heart crashed through the bottom of his stomach as his vision turned red.

* * *

With an enraged yell, Alfred lunged at the Prussian, launching a punch into his face. Gilbert was sent flying across the room, dropping Matthew in the process who hit the ground hard, but coughed and drew a shaky breath – Alfred could've cried with relief at the simple act of his brother breathing; it meant he was alive! Not that he had much time to revel in the thought however; Gilbert had gotten to his feet, spitting out a small glob of blood before lunging at him from across the room. The pair tumbled across the floor, sinking a fist or a knee in where ever they could.

Alfred rolled up onto his feet, dragging the albino with him. He slammed him into the wall, knuckles turning white as he gripped fistfuls of Gilbert's shirt. His face was filled with fury.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing," he growled, putting their faces mere inches from each other. Prussia just laughed, sneering at the young American.

"You think you can intimidate me," he smirked cockily. "You got another thing coming kid. Don't get too high-strung, you might end up like your brother over the-"

"Shut up," Alfred snarled breathlessly, sinking a fist into Gilbert's stomach, taking a sick delight in the dull crack of Prussian bones snapping.

"You shouldn't have done that," he panted darkly, slipping a hand inside his coat. "You can just die!" Prussia snarled; lashing out with the small knife he'd hidden within his jacket, aiming for the American's neck. Alfred dived backwards, dropping Gilbert like a sack of potatoes. Despite his quick reaction, Prussia still managed to catch the side of his throat, warm blood quickly welling up inside the wound – it stung like hell, but thankfully it wasn't majorly life threatening.

Gilbert landed on the balls of his feet, catching his balance before pouncing on Alfred once more, slashing at anything close enough to reach with his bloodstained blade. The American ducked and weaved in a twisted semblance of a dance, trying his damnedest to evade Prussia's knife – small as it was, it was still lethal and despite having a nation's immortality, he didn't fancy dying today.

Alfred lost his balance, slipping on a chuck of door and tipping over slightly as Prussia jumped in, stealing the opportunity to sink his blade into the blonde's warm flesh once more. Cool metal sliced through his right hip, drawing out more of the precious red liquid, causing the young blonde to hiss in pain. The albino laughed in triumphant glee as he watched his foe hobble backwards, standing protectively over the form of his younger brother still slumped across the floor.

"You still trying to play Hero," Prussia mocked, a grin playing on his lips once more as he almost lounged against the heavy oak desk. "Some Hero you are - can't even protect your own brother." A manic laugh erupted from his throat, infuriating the American. Alfred leapt forward, swinging for the Prussian's face, determined to wipe that cocky smirk off it with a good right hook.

Alfred's fist connected with the side of Gilbert's face, whipping his head to the side. Just as his fist made contact, a heavy vehicle rolled up outside on Matthew's gravel driveway, drawing two pairs of eyes towards the only window in the study. The albino's mouth twitched up at the corners ever so slightly as his eyes lit up – a renewed fire shining in his crimson orbs. He seized the moment, using the American nation's diverted attention to leap in, ramming his knife into his left shoulder. Alfred couldn't help himself, a pained yell slipped through his lips as Prussia twisted his blade, ripping it free and staring at the bloodstained blade with distaste.

"You broke it," Gilbert pouted as he looked at the knife in his hands, the blade now missing roughly a centimeter or two off the end of it. "Oh well." He dropped the knife before climbing through the window. Alfred heard footsteps growing quieter outside, followed by a vehicle driving away, but he didn't care. He didn't care about the fact that the man who was responsible for hurting him was gone. He didn't care about the fact that he was bleeding in several places and shoulder was throbbing painfully. The only thing Alfred wanted right now was to know that his brother was alright.

"M-Mattie?"

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**A/N: So, was it worth the wait? I hope so! :D **

**A huge thanks to everyone who left me a review - I love the feedback you guys give. It's both motivational and inspirational! Thank you to those of you who just read it too - your interest is apprieciated greatly. (It lets me know I'm not just writing to seven people!) **

**Just to address a point raised by Odisdera-kun, I know that nations wil only die if their land is destroyed, but I like to think that they'd be somewhat adverse to dying for the hell of it. Plus, the natural fight or flight instict would kick in... Speaking of flight, you need to nick that plane ^_~ **

**Also, I know that Canada's actually taller than Prussia - and America, I think - but I like to he's smaller because he generally bottoms in most couples. Plus, such I've made his character quite meek in this story, a shorter stature helps to emphasize the point. **

**Sorry guys, another cliffy. X3 **

**Simply A Writer.**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Back again?! Wow, you're all so devoted. :3 I almost didn't post this today; I died after going to the denist yesterday - I got two fillings done at once x( - and I was so tired, I didn't think I'd have the energy to proof-read, but yay! Random energy spurt! **

**I blame looking at 'Romeo and Juliet' in English for my sudden use of dramatic irony... **

**I also apologise for the excessive use of the word shit, but eh, my story :P **

**Ps. I've responded to a your reviews at the bottom.**

**Enjoy!**

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"And then that little American twat jumped in from nowhere and started laying into me," Gilbert grumbled as he sped down the highway in Antonio's pick up truck. "All I was trying to do was pick up some shit I left with Birdie, I mean come on! It's not like I was trying to kill him or anything."

"Honestly mi amigo," the Spaniard grinned, only able to spare a sideways glance at his friend before training his eyes back on the road ahead of them. "Any one would think you actually ran around looking for trouble. Did he do a number of you? You look pretty sore."

"I'll be fine," he smirked back, working his jaw back and forth. "It's only a few bruises and split lip – I'll be back to pro in no time! I'm awesome after all!"

"Sure, whatever," Antonio laughed loudly. "I hope awesome saves your ass when you try to explain this to your little bro."

"Shit," Gilbert face-palmed – he'd completely forgotten that bit… "Don't you dare leave me alone; I'm not explaining this by myself."

"Tough luck amigo," the sunny brunette chuckled, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. "But I've got plans with Lovi, if you know what I mean…"

"That is so not cool," Gilbert pouted childishly. "Why do you have to be such an ass all the time?"

"Why did you have to jump through a second storey window just to get away from America?" the Mediterranean nation shot back, one eyebrow quirked in a teasing fashion. "Look, Francis and I can't always be there to bail you out; you've got to do shit on your own."

"I know," the albino huffed in defeat. "But it's no fun like that… hang on." Gilbert dropped off as his phone started ringing, the song's obnoxious lyrics filling the front of the truck.

"Shit," he cussed again. "It's Ludwig…"

"Put it on loudspeaker,"

"This won't end well," Prussia sighed as he flipped up his phone, pressing speakerphone. "Hey Bruder, what's the matter, did Feli kick you out?" he joked, hoping to distract his German sibling.

"Gilbert, where are you," nope, no chance. Ludwig was as on task as ever. "I thought you were staying home today – I came back and the house was empty."

"I got bored," the Prussian supplied. "I went for a walk."

"Then why are you in a car," the German shot back, not missing a beat. Why did he have to be so damn perceptive?

"He's too good," Spain laughed loudly – damn jolly idiot. "Just tell him amigo, there's no need to be embarrassed, he'll find out soon enough."

"Find out what," Germany's voice was tinted with worry. "Bruder, what did you do?"

"I… got in another fight," Prussia grumbled. "A couple of nut-jobs jumped me and I almost lost. Spain happened to be nearby and bailed me out – I'm in his truck, he's giving me a ride home."

"Are you alright," Germany seemed to have forgotten any earlier annoyance with his brother's random disappearance, now more concerned for his welfare. "How long before you get home?"

"I'll have him to you in ten," Spain yelled down the phone. "And he's fine – they wounded his pride more than anything."

Prussia hung up, glaring at the Spaniard. He couldn't find it in him to really be mad right now – he'd played along with his white lie and saved him half the trouble of explaining what happened to his brother.

"Thanks for playing along Toni," he grinned, punching him playfully on the arm. "I think you just saved my ass."

"Any time amigo," a naughty smirk crept onto his lips. "And I'll happily do more to your ass than save it." The truck filled with peals of laughter as the pair realized that the likelihood of what Spain was implying wasn't that farfetched.

"Another time," Prussia chortled, holding his bruised abdomen – all that laughing had really agitated his ribs.

"Alright then," Spain agreed, pulling the truck to a stop. "You better go apologize to your brother; he worries you know."

"I know, thanks for the ride Toni."

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"Mattie…,"

Matthew lay on his right side, his pale face half buried in the plush green carpet of the study floor. The left side of his baggy blue hoody was stained a deep crimson and clung to his waist. His glassy, tear-filled eyes stared into nothing as he lay stock-still, not even so much as a breath passing his lips…

"Matthew," dread gripped Alfred's chest as he stumbled over to the limp form of his younger sibling. "No, no… come on Matt, you've gotta be alright…"

He knelt down beside him; there was no life in those eyes, Matthew wasn't breathing… was he too late?

"No," Alfred told himself firmly. "Now time for 'ifs' Al, you need to check for a pulse." He ungloved his hands, getting half way to Matthew's neck before he froze.

What would he do if Mattie was… just the though of it made him feel sick to his stomach. He took a deep breath, forcing his trembling fingers to press against Matthew's soft skin, probing his neck for a pulse.

"NO!" Matthew shrunk away from the contact, giving a feral scream as he curled into himself, his breath becoming erratic. "D-don't touch m-me… please…" he begged repeatedly, sobbing dryly into his arms.

"Mattie," Alfred shuffled forwards, laying a gentle hand on his brother's shoulder. "Hush, Matt, it's me, it's Alfred. Calm down, you're safe." Alfred commended himself; his voice didn't waver at all, but his heart felt like jelly at the moment – this time he was far too close to losing one of the people dearest to him.

"Al…" he croaked, glancing up from behind his arms. "Al, I…" whatever Matthew was going to say was swiftly cut off by a fit of wet, rattling coughs. Alfred helped him sit up quickly, making sure he wouldn't choke, rubbing his brother's back whilst he shook. Once the fit had subsided, Matthew looked at his brother, guilt filling his eyes as he caught sight of the blood stains on his neck and near his waist.

"Y-you're hurt," he whispered hoarsely, lifting a shaky hand to the American's neck. "I'm sorry Al, t-this is all m-my fault. I-I'm s-so sorry…" his breath hitched as tears slipped down his cheeks and he began to chant his apology like a mantra.

"Hey, shush, it's alright," Alfred wiped the moisture away with his thumb, placing a gentle kiss on his forehead before pulling him close. "You have nothing to be sorry for Matt, what happens to me is my fault, alright?"

"B-but it's because of me t-that you're hurt," he sobbed raucously, trying to push away from his brother's warm embrace. "If I could just… just s-stand up for myself… this wouldn't have happened…" he gave up in his plight for freedom, opting just to lean against Alfred's chest, quiet sobs still trembling through his slight frame.

"Stop that," Alfred scolded gently, running his long fingers through Matthew's soft, golden hair. "You were great."

"I'm useless," the Canadian muttered. "Maybe everything would be better if I'd just let Gilbert…"

"Matthew," Alfred interrupted him sharply. He tensed up at the sound of his full name – Alfred only called him that when he'd done something wrong. "Don't you ever say that again," Matthew looked up to see Alfred gazing down at him, cerulean eyes drowning in sadness. "I honestly thought I'd lost you today. For a moment, everything went dark and I didn't want to live anymore. Just the thought of you not being by my side anymore was too much for me to even bare thinking about. Do you hear me Matthew Williams? You can't think like that, because I don't know what I'd ever do without you." Matthew could only stare in amazement – he knew he and Alfred were close, but until now, he'd never fully realized how much so. With a shuddering breath, Matthew slipped his arms around his brother, burying his face in his leather bomber jacket.

"I was so scared," Matthew mumbled into the musky leather of his brother's jacket. "I… I tried. I tried to stop him, Al. I… I tried!"

"I know Matt," he muttered into the top of his younger brother's hair, rubbing soothing circles into his back as he cried. "You did your best and that's all I ever ask of you."

"I'm sorry Al," he sniffled, clutching at the cool material. "I'm so s-sorry."

"It's alright," he wrapped his arms tighter around the small Canadian in his lap, holding him as close as he could without causing either of them any further injuries. "Just let it all out, neither of us is going anywhere just yet, I promise."

"T-thank you," was all the smaller of the pair could manage before breaking down into heart-wrenching sobs, clutching onto his brother as though his life depended on it.

"Any time Mattie," Alfred croaked, no longer able to hold his own tears at bay as they slid silently down his cheeks and into Matthew's fair hair. "Any time…"

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**A/N: Daww, fluffies! n,n I'm told I use too much fluff, but all my friends just write outright smut anyway so... I'm not saying I'm innocent, I just don't write as much as they do :3 **

**Reviews!**

**CactusNoir: Thank you for your enthusiasm, it's highly appreciated! I'm a huge fan of the North American Brothers and justice,(I'm a Libra, see) so Gilbert will be shown what-for! But how, and at what cost... 0.o**

**Mofalle: Sorry, no Parental England in this chapter. The next one will be just oozing with ACE however! **

**Odisdera-Kun: I hope you have a great time at your Anime con in a few days, I look forward to a video of you harrassing a Germany. ^_~**

**SharinganWeasel: I read your review half way through a math lesson and I burst out laughing at the mental image of America throwing Prussia through a wall - my friend thought I'd lost it X3 I'll explain the reason why he doesn't use it in the next chapter, as England asks the same thing you did. :D**

**Mina888: I'm glad you liked it and I hope you continue to read, thank you.**

**Keisan: Yay! It's nice to see someone who thinks in the same way I do! Small Canada is a bit of a thing for me :3**

**Next week:**

**"America, Alfred lay still!" **

**"No! Stop, it hurts Iggy. I don't like it..." **

**"I know lad, but I have to do it..."**

**Send love for the lonely British girl! (That's me btw!)**

**Signing off,**

**Simply A Writer**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Happy Halloween! Sorry for the lack of chapter last week, but I was literally drowning in Drama coursework due on the same day I usually update, meaning I didn't have the time to finish it without rushing. **

**On the bright side, here's something a few of you have been eagerly anticipating: Parental!England! **

**Warning: High levels of fluff. Readers may be puking rainbows and candyfloss for a while after reading! **

**Enjoy!**

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"Alfred," a familiar voice called through the haze resting over Alfred's mind, forcing him out of his doze. "Alfred lad, wake up." Alfred's eyes fluttered open, revealing a dark shape kneeling in front of him. Alfred jumped, biting back a yelp of surprise as he retightened his grip around Matthew's slumbering form, causing the Canadian to groan slightly.

"Alfred, love, it's alright," the shadow spoke in a beautiful, English accent…

"Artie," he asked hopefully, refusing to loosen his grip on his sibling.

"That's right Alfred," Arthur stood up, flicking the study's light on before kneeling back down by the Northern Americans, running a hand through Alfred's sweaty hair. "What happened, how badly are the two of you hurt?" Now that the lights were on, Alfred could clearly see the worry etched into his ex-caregiver's face.

"Prussia tried to kill Mattie," Alfred said bluntly, rage tainting his voice as he remembered the sight of his brother, hanging limp in the other nation's grasp. "The dirty bastard nearly did it too." Alfred's hold on his brother tightened unconsciously as the images filled his mind.

"Alfred, calm down," Arthur commanded softly, taking hold of the American's arms, slowly becoming more forceful when he didn't respond. "Calm, Alfred, stop it! Let go, you're hurting him!" Matthew moaned feebly in his brother's arms, as if to stress the point that Alfred was slowly crushing him. Alfred let him go immediately, moving away with a look of pure horror etched in his face. Matthew slumped into Arthur, violent coughs wracking his slight frame.

"Matthew, breathe," Arthur soothed as he rubbed reassuring circles into the Canadian's back in an attempt to ease his fit. "Come on lad, that's it."

"A-Alfred," Matthew panted anxiously, his heavy breaths still shaking his body.

"No poppet," Arthur corrected him, tucking the boy's golden locks behind his ear. "It's Arthur, are you alright now?"

"W-where's Alfred," Matthew moved away from his father-figure, his violet eyes were full of panic. "Where is he?"

"Hush, Matthew," Arthur cupped Matthew's face in his hands, forcing all of the younger nation's attention on himself. He couldn't help but feel how warm his cheeks felt. "Calm down, don't panic poppet. It's alright, Alfred's right over there, see?"

"Al," Matthew looked to where Arthur was indicating, relaxing visibly once the other blonde was in his sight. "A-are you… okay?" the American nation had pulled his knees up to his chest, burying his face in his thighs – it made him seem unnaturally small…

"I'm fine Matt," Alfred's voice was muffled by his legs. "I'm just a little tired is all… Are you alright?"

"I," Matthew wheezed, trembling like a leaf as he cradled his chest with one arm, trying to hold himself up with the other. "Al, I can't breathe…" his voice was filled with fear as his already labored breathing became more erratic.

"Matthew, what's wrong," Alfred was by his brother's side again in a second, hand on his trembling shoulder as his concern burned behind his cobalt eyes. "Mattie? Arthur?" His gazed flicked from sibling to parent and back again as he tried to figure out what was going on.

"It all hurts Al," the Canadian whimpered, clutching at his chest. "I c-can't b-breathe…"

"Arthur," Alfred pleaded; his voice was thick with tears.

"Calm down, both of you," Arthur took Matthew's shoulders in his grip once more. "Matthew, what's wrong?"

"Hurts," the young nation wheezed.

"Where," Arthur urged gently. "Where does it hurt poppet, let me see."

"Chest…" Matthew's words were quiet and strained, an acute sense of fear tainting his voice. "Alfred?"

"I'm here bro," Alfred shuffled closer, taking Matthew's hand in his own as Arthur eased the young Canadian down to lay on the floor. "Just chill, Arthur's gonna fix you up in no time, ok?"

"Alright poppet, stay still," Arthur's voice was calm and soothing, the familiar accent giving a sense of safety. "I'm going to take a look at your chest now."

Seeing that Alfred had taken his brother's hand in his own and was now working on keeping him calm, Arthur lifted the bottom of Matthew's baggy red sweatshirt, his expression turned grim at the sight that met him. Matthew's torso was a mess: heavy bruising covered a good portion of his chest, giving it a dappling of black, blue and purple. His left side; what looked to be from armpit to hip was red, raw and bleeding in places, the skin broken and in shreds.

No wonder the lad couldn't breathe, Arthur thought grimly.

"Arthur," Alfred spoke quietly and cautiously. "W-what's wrong with him?"

"Heavy bruising over his ribs and stomach and a large wound down his left side," Arthur stated bluntly. "I'm inclined to believe some of his ribs may actually be broken. I'm sorry poppet, but bear with me." Arthur's slim fingers brushed against Matthew's abused skin, earning him a hiss of pain from the Canadian. Arthur ground his teeth, regretting his next move before he'd even made it. He lightly pushed down against his first left rib, receiving a feeble moan of discomfort; getting the same result for the next two as well. As Arthur pressed down on Matthew's fourth rib, the blonde let out a scream of agony, arching his back as his weak grip on Alfred's hand tightened.

"Keep him still," Arthur commanded levelly, his face set with determination. "I still need to check the rest." Alfred looked like he wanted to complain, but kept to himself – as much as he didn't like it, he knew Arthur wouldn't cause Mattie any pain if he didn't have to. Arthur probed along the next few, getting a similar result with his fifth, sixth and seventh ribs. After finishing the left and probing the right, Arthur concluded that Matthew had managed to break four ribs on his left side (most likely what ever caused the bruising had shattered his bones as well) along with another two on his right. He looked over to his sons, sorrow gripping his heart as he watched Alfred whisper soothing words to Matthew, who'd been reduced to tears during Arthur's investigation, begging repeatedly for him to stop and just leave him be.

"I'm sorry Matthew," Arthur leant over, placing a soft kiss on Matthew's brow as he cupped the boy's cheek, wiping away his tears. "I'm so, so sorry. It's all over now, I'm all done."

"Daddy," Matthew sobbed pathetically, holding his arms towards the Englishman. Arthur wrapped his arms around the boy in return, gently pulling him up so he sat in his lap.

"It's alright poppet," Arthur whispered, running his slender fingers through Matthew's silky blonde hair. "I'm here, you're safe now." He glanced up at Alfred, seeing the young nation slumped and staring at the floor.

"Alfred," he called softly; the American's head shot up, cobalt eyes full of raging emotions. "Come here sweetie, don't be alone." - Alfred sat still, holding his ground as he fought an internal battle with his pride – "You can be the hero tomorrow, for now, be Alfred and just let me hold you."

Alfred hiccupped before falling into Arthur's shoulder, clutching at the soft material of his jumper as he let his fear overwhelm him. All of the stress and anxiety that had built up, not only from today's events, but from years of trying to manage a nation full of internal dispute, was finally allowed to come out. Alfred reveled in the chance to just be a child again and not have to worry about anything – to let his parents do all of the hard parts and just be loved.

The small family sat in quiet, the only noise was the soft crying of the brothers as they let their father figure hold them for the first time in almost a century. Just as they began to calm down, Arthur's mobile rang out from his pocket, the obnoxious sound of bagpipes proclaiming the identity of his caller straight away. Slipping his arm from Alfred's shoulder, he grabbed his phone, answering it swiftly.

"Iain, now isn't a good time, could you call me back," Arthur wasted no time with greetings as he saw Alfred tremble now his arm wasn't wrapped around his back. "Hush poppet, I'm still here, don't worry."

"No, I will not call you back," Arthur's oldest brother scoffed down the phone line, his broad Scottish accent making him sound twice as annoyed. "Where the hell are you, your plane landed two hours ago and you weren't on it."

"I got sidetracked by something more important," the twins' crying started anew as Arthur and Iain's conversation became a shouting match. "Oh shit. Shush, it's alright, you're both okay, nothing's going to hurt you."

"Who're you with," Iain asked, his voice back to a normal speaking volume. "What happened, are you alright?" despite popular belief and their years of conflict, the Britain brothers truly did care for one another – although slightly dysfunctional, they were still family.

"I'm fine," Arthur assured him. "I'm with the twins; they've both gone through hell today. I know I should've come home already, but I'm sorry, but I can't leave them like this."

"Paddy and Molls," Iain's voice filled with alarm as a small cry came from elsewhere on the other end of the line.

"No, no," Arthur responded quickly, nestling his mobile between his ear and his shoulder, wrapping his arm back around Alfred who calmed down slightly now the embrace was reestablished. "To the best of my knowledge, Ireland and Northern Ireland are both fine. I'm with America and Canada." He gave each boy a light squeeze as he mentioned them.

"I understand Artie," Iain stated sympathetically. "Where are you?"

"Matthew's home," Arthur placed a soft kiss on Alfred's hair, not liking how the usually boisterous, happy-go-lucky nation shook. "I'm not sure when I'll be able to come home yet."

"No," Iain muttered. "It's fine. Stay where you are, I'm coming to join you."

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**A/N: And... BOOM! I'm mildly obsessed with Scotland (National pride if you will) And just incase some of you were confused:**

**Ireland: Molly. **

**(My friend and I were saying that we think Ireland would be a girl with long ginger hair and a short temper, should the nation ever be created properly and rather ironically, Himaruya has said that Ireland will most likely be a crybaby type girl and official art has been released! She has long ginger hair, freckles and big boobies :3 )**

**Northern Ireland: Patrick. **

**I love the Britian family because the remind me so much of my own. I've got five older brothers and I'm the first girl on both my father's and my mother's sides, so don't be surprised if I turn out a lesbian guys! **

**Either way, if you want me to or it becomes necassary, I will explain the way I've protrayed the Celtic nations and Wales (don't forget little Wales). **

**Peace not pieces,**

**Simply x x**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Hello again! I'm sorry about the wait, but this chapter just wouldn't go how I wanted it to and I'm still not overly sure of it, but hey! Anywho, italics are Scotland's thoughts.**

**Enjoy.**

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"You wanted to see me," a broad shouldered man with wild fiery hair and piercing green eyes sauntered through the doors of a drab looking politician's office. "You'd better not be wasting my time again."

"I'd appreciate you not taking that sort of tone with me _Scotland_," Mrs. Dourton a stick-like, crow faced woman drawled from behind her desk, dark beady eyes boring into the redheaded nation in the doorway. This was the woman Her Royal Majesty had appointed to keeping an eye on her Nations – this arrangement was going quite well too; there was only on problem:

The British Isles couldn't stand this woman and this woman couldn't stand them either.

"And I'd appreciate your resignation," the Scotsman quipped back, lighting a cigarette purely to irritate the woman before him. "Either you tell me why I'm here or I'm going home."

"Your _brother_," she used the word contemptuously – she resented the way nations made family bonds with one another, seeing them as abominations, not people. "England, Britain or whatever you want to call him, should've been home earlier this morning, but he hasn't checked in with Her Majesty or me; where is he?"

"How the hell should I know you daft broad," he growled, flicking ash on her pale blue carpet, earning him a frosty glare from Mrs. Dourton. "Do I look like his fucking keeper?" – Her eye twitched in irritation, causing the Celtic nation to smirk with satisfaction – "You're supposed to be intelligent, why didn't you just try calling him; you didn't need to drag me down to your shitty little office."

"Do you honestly think I haven't tried that already," she sighed in expiration as she rubbed her temples. "You all refused to give me your personal numbers, so how could I possibly contact him anywhere but his office or home?"

"You can't," the redhead's smirk widened to reveal his sharp, cat-like teeth; his acid green eyes alight with mischief. "I just like watching you squirm."

"Are you going to co-operate, or am I going to have to call security again," she shrilled. This was such a regular occurrence with Scotland and Ireland that a team of elite body guards had been hired solely with keeping the pair of them in check.

"Call them if you like," Scotland laughed, enjoying every second of discomfort he was causing this woman. "They won't be an issue."

A steely glint passed through the woman's eyes as she flicked a switch on her desk phone; moments later, four hulking men in black suits charged into the room, pouncing straight for the nation.

"Eejit," the Scot heckled as he sidestepped the first goon, tripping him up as he passed. A sadistic laugh escaped his lips as the husky brute face planted into the desk. "You're going to have to try harder than that!"

"Don't just stand there," Mrs. Dourton shrieked, standing from her chair to try and seem more imposing. "Grab him, throw him out, and teach him his place!"

The burly suits lunged once more; one aiming for his back whilst the other tried for his knees. Scotland jumped, bringing his foot up to meet his rear assailant's jaw and receiving a sound crack for his efforts. The man who aimed at his knees landed on the carpet. The Scotsman brought himself down onto the man's back. The final man grabbed the Scotsman from behind, trapping his arms to his sides. Scotland's mouth quirked into a devilish grin before he brought his head back as hard as he could, making contact with the guard's nose. The man dropped, both hands cradling his now bleeding nose.

"So," Scotland jumped onto Mrs. Dourton's desk, crouching down to look her in the eye where she stood; a cocky smirk covered his face. "What did you want to ask me?"

"Could you call England and see where he is for me," she said dryly, refusing to be intimidated in her own office. Scotland raised one fiery eyebrow expectantly. "Fine… please?"

"Alright," the Scotsman smiled, taking his phone out of his pocket.

"Really," the woman wore a dumbfounded expression. "You mean it was as simple as asking nicely?"

"Not at all," he smirked down at her. "I just want to see the look on your face when you thought you'd won."

"Oh, you brute," she hissed, pitch rising again as it always did when she got annoyed. "Honestly, what would your mother think of you boy; if she saw you acting like this!"

"Don't you say a fucking word about our mother," he grabbed the front of her blouse, pulling her forwards until their noses were touching, grinding his words out through clenched teeth. "You have no idea what she went through for us, so don't you _dare_ utter a word against her name. You hear me?" Mrs. Dourton could only stare at him in shock as his poisonous green eyes tunneled to the core of her resolve. She numbly nodded her head and he released her, letting her fall back into her chair.

"Now shut it," he growled, standing up and getting off of her desk. "I'm going to call Arthur." Coming to the conclusion that she wouldn't be a problem, Scotland whipped open his phone, hitting his speed dial.

"Iain, now isn't a good time, could you call me back," _No pleasantries today then_; Iain thought to himself. Arthur sounded stressed and tired. "Hush poppet, I'm still here, don't worry." _Or calm and soothing; too bad either way!_

"No, I will not call you back," Iain growled back at him, still wound up from his confrontation with Dourton. "Where the hell are you, your plane landed two hours ago and you weren't on it."

"I got sidetracked by something more important," Arthur yelled back. _He's fine_, Iain thought to himself, allowing a small smile to grace his lips. "Oh shit. Shush, it's alright, you're both okay, nothing's going to hurt you."

"Who're you with," now his curiosity was going wild: was that sobbing he could hear? "What happened, are you alright?"

"I'm fine," _Thought so, but I still have to check; doesn't tell me who's crying through the phone though. _"I'm with the twins; they've both gone through hell today. I know I should've come home already, but I'm sorry, I can't leave them like this." Twins… no, he couldn't mean…

"Paddy and Molls," Iain couldn't stop the names from escaping his lips, but why would Arthur go to Ireland? He saw a movement out of the corner of his eye, catching Mrs. Dourton trying to grab her desk phone and call more security guards whilst the nation was distracted. He pinned her with an icy stare, stopping the woman dead in her tracks as she gave an odd cry, somewhere between a sob and a protest.

"No, no," the blonde assured him quickly. "To the best of my knowledge, Ireland and Northern Ireland are both fine. I'm with America and Canada."

"I understand Artie," _So that's who must be crying on the other end and why he didn't get in his plane this morning._ Iain thought to himself as he realized Arthur wouldn't be able to handle both of the North American Nations on his own – not when they were both at the stage of tears. "Where are you?"

"Matthew's home," Arthur sighed. "I'm not sure when I'll be able to come home yet."

"No," Iain muttered distractedly as he caught the sour elderly woman once again trying to summon her bodyguards. "It's fine. Stay where you are, I'm coming to join you."

With that, he hung up, turning his full attention back to the silver-haired woman sneaking towards the phone on her desk again.

"Hey Margret," he bellowed, his voice easily filling the room – years on the highlands, shouting war cries. "I'm leaving now." the mischievous glint came back to his poisonous eyes.

"You will be going nowhere just yet," she scowled, irritated by the redhead stood before her and the amount of confidence he held in his voice. "I still need to speak with you and I cannot afford to have two of Her Majesty's nations running wild!"

"You couldn't stop me if you tried," the nation became bathed in a soft emerald light, his body growing slowly more translucent. "Goodbye Margret, we all wait for the day you retire, _Imionn!_"

As the Celtic vanished, a new group of black clad muscle burst through the door, greeted by nothing more than the sound of fading laughter and the woman who called them staring in amazement at the air before her.

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**A/N: So, there you have it; one big Chapter about Scotland being awesome. I don't know why, but I felt like I needed to explain why Scotland was calling England - he's not the type to get panicky when his brothers are gone for a little longer than they said; hell, he spent a couple centuries fighting them to the death. **

**So, yeah. What did you think? Was it on par with the usual standard or was it a little confusing? It feels rushed to me...**

**Simply x x **


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